


Dragon Blood

by orphan_account



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Ulfric Stormcloak, Coming Out, Fantastic Racism, Fluff and Angst, Gay Panic, Hurt/Comfort, Interracial By Fantasy Standards, Interracial Relationship, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: During his time in Sovngarde, Elluel is unaware of the advancing Stormcloak troops. Needless to say, the elf is certainly surprised when he returns to a Stormcloak victory and reign. The personal invitation to Ulfric's palace is just the cherry on top of the sundae that is the life he had spent hiding his identity as the Dragonborn which now crumbles in his own hands. Almost infatuated with the Dragonborn Elf, Ulfric struggles with both his growing attraction to the man as well as the fact that he is and most importantly, a Mer. Canon Divergence and Creative Liberties.





	Dragon Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for clicking on this fic, I'd just like to say that I'm somewhat new to the fandom so I may mess up the little details about canon and so I'd appreciate some leeway when it comes to that stuff, cheers and happy reading!

Many things had occured in the world of the living during his time in Sovngarde, things that he wished to have not missed. That harsh feeling in his stomach was worthless, there was nothing that could have prevented this that did not involve allowing the dark dragon to live. As he walked through the darkened-by-night streets of riverwood, the sounds of surrounding wilderness comforted him. Holding up a hand in front of his mouth, the cloudy exhaled vapor did nothing to warm his pale and bloodied digits. Each step hurt with a deep ache and stabbing sensation to his core. Elluel was thankful to be alive, thankful to hear the melody of nature once more. Shaking his black silky backpack, he reminded himself why he was in this settlement in the first place. The absence of healing potions were painfully noticeable with each aching step he took towards the general store. The door was locked, but it did not resist the tweaking of his pick, easily coming open with barely but a budge. Elluel laughed quietly to himself, laughed at how he had not the concentration for a healing spell but could manage an act of finesse such as this. Shaking his head, the wounded wood elf wandered into the store which he knew was closed. 

 

Elluel did not bother stealing from the poor guy, knowing whatever patronage he ever got was clearly not enough for a life of comfort. Nobody had comfort in these trying times of war, but the elf would take the slightest warmth in knowing that his duty to slay Alduin was passed him, completed. Compared to his most recent ordeal, a mere civil war was nothing he couldn’t handle, as if he ever planned on handling it anyway. While remaining neutral, thus in the shadows, he secretly hoped that Ulfric did not win, secretly hoped that an age of racial prejudice  disguised and cloaked in nordic nationalism, would not soon rule. Elluel was painfully aware of his position as a wood elf in the nordic territory of Skyrim, both evident from the cold ache in his bones, to the nervousness whenever near a tall and strong nord. He himself knew that whatever he faced would likely pose no issue, not even the nords if he had to go up against them. Even after facing the black dragon, Elluel’s conscious held a fear of what the Nords could do to him if they really wanted to.

 

\--

 

Prejudice was something he had to deal with daily before that fateful day of his execution, pretty much the cause as well. His mother had been sick, deathly so, encumbered by something strong enough to break through the natural resistance to most plagues possessed by the mer of his kind. Normally, a thief lifting something small wouldn’t be punished too harshly, a small fine charged and that was that. He had witnessed this himself as a child, a clear memory of a large nord man swiping a sweet bun encouraging his state of mind at the time. It was the only reason he was willing to make the criminal choice of stealing a potion of cure disease, something that likely wouldn’t be missed too much. Elluel had even left a few tokens of gold on the bar as well, not enough to cover but enough to relieve his own guilt of leaving the merchant at a loss. Elluel had almost cried when caught, unable to cope with the barrage of slurs sent his way from the menacing and muscled merchant. The guards were no better either, shaking their heads and saying something he didn’t care to hear about his kind. 

 

From what he could gather after his escape from helgen, it had been an off-the-records punishment, something  that would not have passed any judiciary figure even towards an elf like him. The guards handed him over to the Imperials as a stormcloak rebel, the elf too frightened and timid to speak as the evil nord man relinquished his hold on the now beaten and bloody wood elf. The Imperial commander did not question the wounds and bruises on Elluel, figuring that they had simply been acquired during combat. They did not believe his story, but even during his soul-rendering pleads of mercy and innocence, he was still sent off to the slicer.

 

-

 

Even after all of this, he still held that hope that the empire would prevail. This prejudice was held by many of the nords in skyrim, but it was kept in check however slightly by whatever influence the empire currently held. The imperials were not all nords, not all entirely prejudiced against any with a long ear. That being said, he did not favor the Imperials enough to fight for them, not enough to whisper prayers in their name. For, in the end, it had been their own prejudice that had led to his almost execution, his own death. Elluel had not the temperament to forgive that prejudice, especially not now after the ordeal of the hardest fight in his life. Elluel wondered if healing potions would do anything.

 

Lucan was shocked and confused at first, ready to call for the guards, but his eyes came to calm at the site of an open sack of coin. From what Elluel could vaguely remember about the man, Lucan was indebted to him after the elf had retrieved the golden claw. It had not been easy at the time, but now he wagered he could do it half-asleep. However, even with his fading memories of the man, Elluel knew his tone was off- disturbed.

 

“Elluel…..”

 

The elf in question froze, having never given the man his name. At the time, he hadn’t trusted the nord enough to hand out identifying information, having still been a wanted man of the empire. Calming himself, he thought about things rationally. Lucan must’ve seen an Imperial bounty poster, yes, that was it. Or, at least, what he wanted it to be. If that was the case, which it almost certainly had to be, there was no way this man knew him to be Dragonborn. The identity of the Dragonborn was already known, a strong-willed and honorful Nord.

 

“Yes?” The elf failed to block out the nervousness from his tone, a mixture of both lingering adrenaline from Sovngarde along with the anxiety of being discovered.

 

It was bad enough to be a small and lithe wood elf in Skyrim, but even worse to be known to the public as their savior. Elluel had the scene stored in his mind, they’d call him a false-prophet, unable to recognize a mer like him as anything but. The dragonborn was a part of their culture, history even. An elven Dragonborn was something that they’d never believe, certainly forming mobs to hunt him down. The bottom line was that Elluel could never be the savior they envisioned, and so he kept to the shadows. During his journeys, he had heard rumors of the supposed Dragonborn, whispers of a strong nord man who had earned the title of Thane in many holds. It came to no surprise that the rumors included a nord, he found comfort in knowing that they already ‘knew’ who the hero was, thus not even considering an elf to be the slayer of dragons.

 

Lucan’s response was joking, but the underlying implication worried the elf.

 

“I’m surprised to see you here at two-thirty A.M, wonder what ya want? Make it quick, I don’t want to be associated with you even after the whole claw thing. Can you imagine? It’s been so long since then….”

 

Elluel paused, something wasn’t right. Sure, the elf did not think his arrival at this hour of the night wouldn't be commented on, but had something come out about his carefully concealed identity? If so, to what extent? Currently as it stood, his only crime was being falsely painted as a rebel, not something that’d commonly earn renown amongst the general population. Perhaps his identity as the Dragonborn had been revealed? The more he thought about it, the more likely it sounded in his head. The Jarl’s he had dealt with seemed to have been on his side, but gods knew a little bit of coin here and there could easily sway loyalty. The problem now was figuring out what exactly about being revealed as such would earn him some kind of bounty or nefarious status.

 

Running a thumb over his eyebrow, his reply was overly curt.

 

“Yeah. Have any healing potions?”

 

The vendor raised an eyebrow before sighing and nodding. Lucan turned around to reach into a nearby shelf and produce a six pack of large red vials. Elluel felt bad about not obliging the man’s initiation to conversation, but he really was not in the mood to be all buddy-buddy with anybody. After being placed on the counter the Dragonborn counted out his coin before placing them carefully into his waiting hands. Having bought many potions, the elf was familiar with the price of things and so he didn’t wait for the man to tell him the cost. After taking the pack of potions in hand, he paused before leaving.

 

“What did you mean about not wanting to be associated with me, is it because I’m a wood elf?”

 

At this point in his life and conquests in skyrim, Elluel was past tact when addressing the issue. Still, it gave him a rush to be talking so brazenly, knowing racial issues commonly went unaddressed.. Surprisingly, the man’s answer was not what he expected. Cheeks reddening, he glanced downwards at his feet, unwilling to meet Lucan’s eye.

 

“No, I don’t care what you are really, surprisingly. But, well, a man came to see me a few weeks ago, telling me about an elf named Elluel. Sure, it took me a while to remember who you actually were at first, but it came to me nonetheless. For some reason, I was told to direct you to the Palace of Kings. Look, elf, I don’t know what you got into, but they didn’t seem to be angry or mal-intentioned.”

 

Elluel could do nothing but laugh at the surprise of the words. It was possible that Lucan was lying, but he doubted the man cared enough to craft something like that. There was no way he’d ever go to that wretched castle, no way he’d ever want to meet with that Nationalistic asshole. The elf had met him once, but no words had been exchanged. It had been near his execution when his eyes came to lay on the bound and gagged man. Seeing the leader of the rebellion had been exciting at first, but now it was a mundane idea after all that he had been through. 

 

“Why would I want to go to the castle of a rebellion that hates my guts?” The mer’s voice was disinterested, distracted by the shiny baubles behind the bar that he really wanted to lift.

 

Clearing his throat, the vendor replied.

 

“Why would you deny the summons of the high king?”

 

For all intensive purposes, the elf pretty much shit himself mentally. It took a moment for the words to register in his mind, register the significance of what the man had just said. Ulfric had won the war already? Sovngarde hadn’t been that long of an outing, but he hadn’t really been paying attention to the happenings of the civil war. He figured it was forgivable given the circumstances, but the thought of so much passing him by left the dark-haired elf in awe. Sure, it had been a possibility he had considered, but he never expected it to actually happen. How weak could the empire have been to lose to a bunch of nationalistic rebels? Pulse pounding in his ears, Elluel took the pack of potions in hand as he swiftly left the shop.

 

Two vials were downed consecutively, the consumer paying no mind to the somewhat bitter taste coating his tongue. After a yellow light enveloped him, Elluel felt his pan melting away and the scratches and cuts on his fingers mending before his eyes. It was always a marvel to watch, but that nagging idea was preventing him from paying attention. Ulfric Stormcloak was now the high king of skyrim, this was the epitome of what could go wrong. Momentarily, he had forgotten he was invited to the place in the first place, which honestly made things even worse. The more Elluel thought about it, the worse it was. The potions did not comfort Elluel as he realized that the stormcloaks likely knew of his identity. Why else would an elf be invited into the palace of the high king? It was not like he was renown for anything significant, and so the logical conclusion was that they knew something about him that was worth inviting the non-nord to the home of Ulfric.

 

Elluel did not wish to visit the palace of kings, but his hand was forced. He needed to know what the stormcloaks knew about him and the events surrounding him. Maybe things weren’t as bad as he thought them to be. Even so, the elf still found himself sweating nervously in the cold as he strode up to the horse tied behind the old inn. This should have been a happy time for him, a time for him to relax after the greatest accomplishment of his life. Elluel had saved the world from Alduin, and now this is what he had to deal with. Gallop after gallop, the elf’s mind wandered to try and assemble some sort of battle plan for when he neared the castle. This long trip needed to be worthwhile, it needed to give him something of value to make this worth it. For a moment, Elluel wished he was a nord, wished he was able to bask in the fame and glory of being the Dragonborn. Maybe, then, he’d be able to find companionship too. Nobody wanted an elf, but everybody wanted to bed the Dragonborn. It was painful to hear women in taverns gossiping about the nordic beauty of the Dragonborn, he knew his own appearance could never match up to what the public already thought about him. Even after slaying Alduin, he still did not feel good enough as he knew he should.

 

-

 

Elluel found himself at the gates of Windhelm much sooner than he anticipated, for that he thanked the horse. The light ebony armor worn on his body provided inadequate warmth against the bitter winter cold. While he had smithed the custom armor himself, he was dissatisfied with the lack of fur felting the inside, it was something he’d have to work on whenever he got the time, but it wasn’t too much of a bother. Pulling the dark black hood over his head, he drew the drawstrings tight in an attempt to both trap heat and veil his visage. This city was large and overbearing, monolithic almost as it stood before him. Shivering slightly, the elf took a moment to cast a spell. Moments later, the Dragonborn disappeared into a veil of darkness, unseen by the guards glaring right through him. It was satisfying to sneak past them, even more so when he slipped into the city unnoticed.

 

As he passed through the grey quarter, his spell wore off leaving the elf to seemingly emerge from a veil of black mist. The Dunmer around him scattered with surprise, staring at the darkly dressed man. Albeit shorter, he was still certainly intimidating given his apparel. The design of this custom ebony light armor was spiked in an aerodynamic way that both increased his speed and deflected arrows. Elluel was proud of his work actually, eventually hoping to start selling some if he ever needed the money. It was strange to be in the company of Dunmer. Sure, they were still elves, but they had barely anything in common. Different traditions, different appearances, there were many degrees of separation between the two. Part of him felt bad for those living in the slums, but he guessed it to be better than nothing. Elluel was uncertain as to why the High King was allowing the elves to live in his city, he was all-powerful now, able to kick them out if he wanted. Biting his lip, the elf tried to stop thinking about the harsh treatment the Dunmer were likely receiving from the awful guards he rarely saw patrolling this quarter of the city.

 

Elluel found himself staring down the front entrance of the palace. The guards were reciprocating, eyebrows raised with a menacing snarl. Their hands clasped the hilt of their swords, Elluel was not welcomed. With a sigh, the young elf cloaked himself once more in the veil of darkness before disappearing from sight. Since there was an actual door that required opening, this wouldn’t be as easy as sneaking past two guards into an open area. Clearly suspicious as to where the Bosmer had disappeared to, their eyes darted around in panic while the elf simply stepped between the two. Opening the door had to be quick, otherwise it was entirely that they would grab him even while invisible. While unseen, he was still completely tangible as any normal person would be. Upon entering the palace, the elf jumped to the side of the hall before he watched the guards storm in. A cold breeze whirled into the throne room as the door had been opened for longer than usual. Glancing back towards the duo of stormcloak guards, they seemed embarrassed to be standing in front of the high king dishevelled and a bit confused.

 

Galmar’s voice was dismissive and disapproving at the same time, stern too. 

 

“What is the meaning of this intrusion? Surely you do not intend on interrupting the high king.”

 

Elluel couldn’t help himself but shrink back against a nearby pillar in fear, a reaction to being this close to the people who hated his very existence. Holding in a gasp as he felt the Magicka depleting, the elf maneuvered himself in a way as to where the ornate stone pillar would hide his presence from those in the room. It was hard to hold for extended periods of time, but it was relieving to have that constant drain of Magicka relent. Even if the darkness parted from his form, his body was silent, he was still very trained in the art of stealth. They likely wouldn’t notice him unless they knew he was there or somehow cast a detect life spell.

 

One of the guards, a bit more dishevelled than the other, responded in an panicked state.

 

“Sir, we had an elf use some kind of invisibility spell in front of us, and saw the door open shortly afterwards so…..”

 

Clearly angry, Galmar rubbed his brow furiously.

 

“Ulfric, I’m going to advise you to retreat to a safer room. I don’t wish to believe those inept guards, but your safety is my priority.”

 

Unamused, the king in questioned stared down at the guards. Rubbing his chin in contemplation, the king’s eyes wandered around the room, waiting to see some kind of ripple in the air as if it would give away the position of the apparent intruder.

 

“No, give it a moment. I think I know who this is.”

 

Elluel froze against the chiseled pillar, incapable of movement. One of the guards, the less distraught Stormcloak, inquired nervously.

 

‘Who is it then?”

 

Pausing, Ulfric glanced towards Galmar. His words were nonchalant, starkly so.

 

“Dragonborn, Elluel Arcana. Bosmer Immigrant who has been living discreetly ever since our planned execution. He was in the imperial cart with me, can you believe that Galmar?”

 

Blinking in confusion, Galmar uttered out something unintelligible to Elluel before repeating himself. It was a sinking feeling in the elf’s chest, a feeling that he dreaded would arrive while making his journey to the castle. Part of him knew what the outcome would be even before arriving, but he had ignored it. There was no way that the High King wouldn’t be able to get information from the Jarl’s of his kingdom, it had been naive of him to think so.

 

“You can’t be serious, Ulfric? How do you know this, anyways?”

 

Gripping the arm of his throne, the older blonde man commanded before responding.

 

“Guards, dismissed!”

 

Scrambling to make their way out, the elf sucked his stomach in an attempt to shrink into the shadow of the pillar as they walked past him. Instead of responding to his subordinate, Ulfric called out to the room, voice booming and somewhat menacing with its gravelly tone.

 

“Elluel, there’s no use hiding. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you or anything of the sort. I’m going to let you explain to Galmar here why I know who you are. You’re a smart man, you can probably think of a way I figured it out.”

 

Ulfric’s teasing was almost unbearable. Elluel wanted nothing more than to run out the door or just come clean with the people in the room. This would not happen though, as it was possible  the King was bluffing. It was easier to just stay where he stood than to make a dramatic entry and gain the attention of the intimidating nords in the room.

 

Somewhat angry in tone, the second in command responded after a few passing moments in which the elf did not reveal himself.

 

“Elf, in the Palace? Explain yourself Ulfric, I’m not understanding something here.”

 

Grunting, Ulfric responded through gritted teeth.

 

“He’s the dragonborn, so we can manage the Elf’s presence. I’m sure our ancestors would not mind having the company of a Dragonborn in their palace.”

 

Talking to the hidden elf now, the blonde King glanced around the room, unnamused.

 

“Please just show yourself, if we wanted to harm you we’d have already done so. It’s completely within my power to do so when I know your identity, yet I haven’t. That should be enough to quell your fear.”

 

With a heavy sigh, the elf in question unpeeled himself from the pillar. Turning around to emerge from said large obstruction, he immediately came to regret his decision upon seeing the intense stares of the two men before him. Instead of basking in the awkward silence, the dark-haired bosmer responded to the earlier request for him to guess how the High King figured out his identity.

 

“It was likely you bribed or simply just asked one of the Jarls to which I am a thane. I should have known something like this would eventually occur, but I guess it was sooner than I imagined. How long have you known, Stormcloak?”

 

Face visibly twitching at being called Stormcloak, Elluel regretted his somewhat snarky tone and manner of addressing the high King. Regardless, Ulfric’s voice was low, gravelly and calm as usual. Currently, he held not the passion Elluel had remembered from before he ascended to his throne. Hopefully, that meant the man had mellowed out somewhat.

 

“Exactly as you guessed, Dovahkiin.”

 

Nodding uncomfortably, the elf leaned back against the pillar he had used previously to hide. His dark ebony hood covered his face in a dark shadow, hiding the nervous reddening on his pale cheeks. Elluel did not like the fact that something as minute as this made him nervous, especially after literally fighting the strongest Dragon yet. Twiddling his thumbs, he hoped neither noticed his nervous tic.

 

Galmar was visibly annoyed, brow scrunched up as usual in disappointment. To Ulfric, he spoke, words almost sounding like a groan as he sat tiredly in a humble wooden chair.

 

“Why are we taking this ‘elf’s’ word for it? How do we know that he’s the rumored Dragonborn? I’ve seen many fakes trying to gain your favor through the use of their faked titles. How do we know this one is the real deal?”

 

Elluel pursed his lip, completely aware to the emphasis the man had placed on the world ‘elf’. At least he was trying to somewhat veil his unspoken claim, that an ‘elf’ was to be disbelieved and the furthest thing from a Dragonborn. Elluel was good at this now, figuring out the unspoken words and intentions of the nords around him, he had to be after living this long in the cold and harsh province of skyrim. Doing his best to appear unbothered, the Mer in question peeled himself off the pillar and walked his way towards the two. There was one simple way to prove that he was a Dragonborn to the non-believer. Licking his lips, the Thu’Um rolled easily off his tongue, directed at Ulfric’s right-hand man.

 

“Gol Hah Dov!”

 

A force went through the air, leaving Galmar somewhat pacified. With a slight smile, the Dragonborn commanded the Nord.

 

“Kneel before me and tell me that you believe my identity as the Dragonborn.”

 

Glancing towards the High King, he could see a look of veiled amusement on the man’s face. The dark-blonde man was understanding at least, knowing why this was necessary. Honestly, he had found it grossly disrespectful that Galmar had doubted the Dragonborn’s identity, but this was just desserts. Although, he had to admit, it was a bit far-fetched how an elf managed to host the blood and soul of the dragons.

 

As asked, Galmor nodded and approached his commander. Kneeling before Elluel, the man made a regal gesture of respect and honor before giving a few words.

 

“I believe you, Dovahkiin, and I apologize for being a racist asshole nord like we all know I am.”

 

With mock surprise, the elf playfully placed his right hand on his chest in disbelief. Clearly though, given his somewhat smug expression, Elluel was enjoying this part just a bit too much. He found it entertaining how Galmor was going above and beyond what had been commanded of him, even including an admission of guilt in his mantra of acknowledgment. Point proven, the elf turned back to the throned man and noticed his calculated stare. Ulfric was watching what he would do, seeing what would happen with a very real and noticeable interest. Galmar and Ulfric had been different in that way, one warmer than the other. It was surprisingly so, given how brief and concise the king had been in his manner of speech and diction. Elluel liked how the High King was taking somewhat of an interest in him, even through gritted teeth at the matter of his elven-ness..

 

Elluel’s words were final.

 

“Relinquished.”

 

With that, the glaze over Galmar’s eyes faded and he slowly stirred back to normal. Shaking his head a bit, the nord man slowly turned to face Elluel. Trembling in what the elf assumed to be anger, Elluel mad a face of mock fear, even though deep down he did not like that look one bit. It was the look of a storekeeper kicking him out, a waitress refusing service, but violent. Putting his guard up, the elf awaited a torrent of unkind words. Elluel would not flinch when the harsh sentences would assault his ears, would not show weakness in front of the High King. The words came of course, exactly as angry as the elf had expected.

 

“I don’t know what kind of black magic forest trickery you just used, but I refuse to partake in the fantasy that an Elf is the Dragonborn. Yes, it’s because you’re an elf you little disgusting long-eared Mer. We both knew that so why couldn’t you just let it be. Is it because you have to play the victim so that Ulfric will pity you and therefore believe your claims to be more valid? Think about it, Ulfric. Why on earth would the Divines choose a little tree elf to be the savior of Skyrim, homeland of the nords?”

 

It wasn’t things that Elluel had never heard in his life, far harsher words had been uttered in his presence. Guard successful, the elf simply cast a smirking glance towards the man. The way Elluel stood was sarcastic and completely non-serious, uncaring of the racist confession and torrent of insults. Most of his posture now was not an act, the elf finding it legitimately humorous that Galmar Stone-Fist believed him to be playing the victim card. During his entire interactions with the royalty today and his housecarl, not once did the elf ever even acknowledge his own race, said factor only being mentioned by primarily the Housecarl. Cracking the knuckles in his hand, the elf breathed in deeply before speaking.

 

“First of all, I rea-”

 

Interrupted by a loud roar, the Elf couldn’t help but flinch a bit at Ulfric’s rumbling terror.

 

“ENOUGH!” Thu’um echoed in his voice, filling the room with a haunting tension.

 

Brow furrowed and seething with rage, Ulfric stood up from his throne, the expression on his face no longer placid and interested. Instead, it was angry and infuriated. With an accusatory finger pointed towards his housecarl, the High King bellowed.

 

“Galmar. I understand your apprehension to this idea of Elluel’s dragon blood, but you will not disrespect him to such a degree before me in my own throne room. You know how important the Dragonborn is to our culture and how deeply I hold my beliefs. He should not be treated as your run of the mill Mer, nor will I allow such a thing to occur. You are dismissed until you can learn to respect this elf of legend. He is the hero to this land and so you will treat him as such. Got it?”

 

Ufric sat back down on his throne, palms gripping the edges of his seat angrily. Elluel shuddered, the intense words infused with Thu’um still reverberating throughout the expansive throne room. This time on his own volition, Galmar bent at the knee and lowered his head, clearly embarrassed by the ordeal, although not as much as the blushing blonde king. It was a curious reaction to his own outburst, one that Elluel could not decipher. People weren’t necessarily his strong point, but he understood emotions to an extent valuable in his life of stealth, secrecy, and spying. 

 

“Galmar, I apologize for my unkind words. Forgive me and allow me for a few moments alone with the man, you can wait outside the door if you worry for my safety.”

 

Ulfric fidgeted with a ring on his finger.

 

“Yes, your Majesty. I accept your apology and offer my own.”

 

Head bowed, Elluel could not read his facial expressions. While somewhat reluctant, even Elluel could hear the honesty and shame in his words. Nodding back to his Housecarl, Ulfric sighed and rubbed the thick coating of blonde hairs on his face, minor comfort found in the prickly feeling of his beard.

 

Elluel could do nothing but mouth a simple thank you at the man who had just defended him, the same man who stood as a figurehead of the self-admittedly racist regime.


End file.
